Lead Me not Into Temptation
by jambled
Summary: A deeper look at the obsession Carter may have developed with Kirsten.
1. Carter's New York Thoughts

It was the thirty-fifth night, out of the forty he'd been away, that he'd been here, alone. Not that he was counting. Staring out the window, ignoring the view. Seeing only her, in his mind, enhanced by the vodka he had ever increasingly been drinking every night.

Thinking of Featherbrook, what could have been… If there hadn't been a car… If she'd decided… differently.

He'd left his phone off purposely when he got to New York, had struggled with himself to be able to do that. But he knew if he heard her voice, heard her realise the significance of the necklace, when they'd both been tempted to do something she might have regretted. That he had wanted more than anything. Still wanted. The thought of her, admitting she couldn't lie to him, admitting she couldn't cook, her eyes looking up at him, shining, less than innocent, needy. He'd seen it in her eyes. She needed somebody then. She'd needed someone at Featherbrook, and would have accepted him if she hadn't talked to Sandy. But he would've accepted her as she was, married, already claimed, no hope of getting the whole girl. He would have been satisfied with a part of her, that sliver he'd seen in her that wanted an escape. Not now, though. The more he thought of her, the more he lusted after her, the whole woman, free from any restraints, able to give herself to him in her entirety.

Her message was still saved on his phone. He'd have thought he'd worn it out by now, listening to it at least ten or twelve times a night. Her voice, soothing him to sleep. He thought he could almost taste her scent in the air. The shirt she'd spilled wine on, unwashed in the cupboard. The thought of her lips still fresh in his mind. And the emptiness in his bed, taunting him when he slept.

He'd dangled his forced interest in Erin in front of her, had seen her at the dinner Sandy had arranged, had shared meaningful glances missed by both Erin and Sandy. Brief touches under the table. Jokes only they could laugh at forcing an intimacy Sandy was not a part of. Him, studying the way her hair shimmered in the half light, the way the breeze floated her perfume towards him. Admiring her mouth as she ate, the slim wrists, those shoulders…

He stood, leant against the glass, cooling his forehead, fogging a patch with his breath so that the city was drawn through a misty haze, a glittering landscape distorted by his warm exhalation.

Of course, she hadn't reacted, hadn't claimed him from Erin, hadn't resorted to cheap tricks or anything less than being herself. She knew, from his first lingering look, that she'd claimed him from the start. That first prolonged handshake, when she found him drunk and had the gall to turn the music off, the way she'd lured him back to the magazine… Not knowing yet that it was her and nothing to do with journalistic fire that had made him walk back through the doors of the Newport Group. He still remembered the skirt she had worn when she'd arrived to make him apologize for missing the meeting. The way it pulled tight when she'd leant down to turn off the stereo. Her perfect silhouette, wise words, eyes so luminous staring at him. She brushed past him as she left, he'd felt the sliver of satin, the swell of her breast briefly against his arm…

The shared wine, late nights talking about so much more outside the boundaries of the magazine had allowed her to let down her guard, talk to him more like a lover than a business associate, feel comfortable enough around him to let him in. That first touch, in her office, the hand he'd casually placed on her arm when she hung up the phone on Sandy, who had, as usual, been off on another mission. She way she'd turned into him, her eyelashes tearstained, knowing there would be no one waiting for her at home, knowing her husband was too busy saving other people to notice she was breaking inside. He'd felt surprise at this sudden show of emotion, but was less surprised at his fierce desire for her then, feelings of protectiveness and lust both tangled as she turned her face to his chest, her hair tickling his chin, the smell of her shampoo losing him in clichéd memories of summer days and apple orchards. She'd pulled away, apologised, wiped her eyes, smiled unforgettably at him. He'd suddenly been thrown from lust firmly into love. The look in her eyes then, before she had time to become guarded again, that intelligent, wounded perfection had drawn him in, sucker punched him so that he could not breath, couldn't move. She'd leaned forward again, her elbows resting lightly on her knees as she surveyed the magazine material before them. Her hair was down, falling in loose coils around her face. The air conditioning had been turned off for the night and her jacket was draped across the side of the couch, her shoulders bare. Her backbone was visible through the sleek satin of her singlet, and he could almost see her ribs. She was slender to the point of breakage. He had reached a hand out, run it gently up her back, leaned forward as she turned around. They'd been close, breathing together for a moment, eyes locked. She looked ready to jump off the abyss, plunge into oblivion with him, and for moment his breathe caught. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it, and moved from the couch. They'd both awkwardly gathered their own papers, said a subdued goodbye, both walking in different directions in the darkness to their cars. Long after she was swallowed up by the night, he'd stood under a streetlight, wondering how she'd managed to get to him so quickly. Get under his skin, ignite in him a passion he hadn't felt about anything or anyone in a long time.

The next day, she'd been cordial but reserved. The party that night, he'd tried to talk to her, offering the only thing he really knew how to do well; wine. She'd declined, but had motioned towards Julie who was giving her an unsurreptitious thumbs up. He'd smiled, looked around, seen Sandy, known she was trying desperately to keep this… whatever it was… under wraps. He'd admitted it to her that night, admitted to a vibe between them, had not wanted her to deny it and so had quieted anything she was about to say. He'd sensed something, though, something about the awkwardness she exuded around him when Sandy was near. He felt some kind of satisfaction knowing that he'd picked up on this while Sandy had missed it, oblivious to his own wife's discomfort. The next day, they'd been back at the office, back to normal.

Featherbrook was almost the night she'd allowed herself to follow her feelings. He'd been sure, if she hadn't been able to get onto Sandy, if there hadn't been a car, if she'd taken up his offer of a shower and a matching robe… He'd sat beside her on the bed, hoping, after she'd said his name, it would be more than what she'd said. He'd known it was going to be, had seen her eyes, looking at him so intently, her body almost leaning in to him, his shirt still clutched in her hands. She'd made some sort of decision as she'd looked at her hands, had decided to go home, had reminded him again that she was already in a relationship, had someone to go home to. He didn't want to ask her if he was going to be there when she got back, didn't want to push her so hard that, in her sadness, she mistook him for some kind of Sandy-duplicate, a replacement to be tossed away as soon as the real Sandy came back. If he ever did. He'd, instead, held her gaze a moment longer before leaving to get dressed. He'd stared at himself in the mirror over the sink, willing the alcohol to swirl more viciously around his system, give him something else to think about other than Kirsten, sitting on the bed only a doorway away, a bed they could've shared.

The job in New York had been something he knew would set him up for bigger and better things. Newport was only meant to be a stepping stone; a way of earning extra money while either setting himself up for certain retirement or, like had happened, paved for him a way back in to an industry he was sure had finished with him. He'd had to give the other publication a few days to let him consider going. It was crazy; he should have taken the job straight away, but every time he saw her look up and smile at him when he brought their nightly bottle of wine, watched her in moments when she didn't realise she was being watched; when she would purse her lips in thought, tuck her hair back absentmindedly, pick up her coffee cup only to realise she'd drank it all already… this was when he had to remind himself that it was a job offer he could only hope to get once. Had to remind himself he didn't even like the rest of Newport. Had to remind himself she was married, she would not be let go without a fight. Had to remind himself of all these things so many times a day it almost became his mantra. He finally agreed to take the job, plucked up the courage to tell her.

The embrace had nearly undone him, as had her silence as he'd told her. Her tiny body, pressed against his, her hand on the back of his neck. Her invitation to dinner, after an admission that she was alone for the weekend. Her forced casualty… And still, that embrace.

_I realise unsurreptitious is not a word. Sorry. Go with it. –J._


	2. Carter's New York Thoughts cont

He stepped back from the window, swiped at the misty condensation absentmindedly, steadying himself when the movement put him off balance. He squinted down at the bottle he held, saw there was less than a shot remaining, drank it down quickly, wondering if he'd opened this bottle tonight or last night. He turned and sank back into his chair in the darkened room.

He hadn't known what to expect when he showed up to dinner. She was noticeably nervous. They were drunk before dinner. She allowed his hands to linger on hers as they opened a second bottle of wine together. Her eyes were a mesmerising blue, and her hair looked soft. Her blouse draped over her, shimmering at her curves. It was the same material, the same hue as the one she'd worn when he'd first truly acknowledged to himself how quickly he had developed feelings for this woman and how deep they ran. He tried to absorb every detail, to both torture and comfort himself with when he was miles away. They'd eaten, talking little, comfortable to look at each other, drink each other in as much as the expensive wine. She was drinking faster than him, either building up courage or determined to pass out before she had to say goodbye. She'd admitted she couldn't lie to him, had been so heartbreakingly close to him, so perfect then that he'd reached down and kissed her. He hadn't been sure of her reaction, hadn't known she would kiss him back, let her tongue sweetly peruse his mouth, her eyes closed, body so close to his. He'd pulled back, opened his eyes for a brief moment to find hers, so blue, lively and scared, looking back at him. He'd kissed her again without meaning to, knowing then that he was overstepping the boundaries that she herself had drawn. Knowing this was why he was leaving, so he didn't draw them both into a temptation that had been threatening to consume them both after the first look. Knowing, still, he loved her, wanted her to know she was loved.

He kissed her forehead, breathed in the scent of her once more, and said goodbye. He knew she would have slept with him, in the bed Sandy and she shared. Knew, too, that she would regret it for the rest of her life. He didn't want to be a regret for her. He didn't want to make love to her in a bed she shared with her husband, wondering whether she would be thinking of Sandy while he was inside her. He wanted to be the one she would wonder about, as he knew he would undoubtedly, by choice or not, wonder about her.

He left the light of the kitchen, wondered dimly whether he should be driving with this much alcohol running through his bloodstream. He made it to his house, stumbled through boxes in the living room to make it to the bottle of vodka in the kitchen fridge. He took it with him to bed, and it had been his constant companion since.

From the chair, he could reach his phone, and he replayed the message once more. He'd debated with himself about leaving the necklace, had finally decided to give her a reminder of him before his memory was truly gone, remind her what had nearly been. Hearing her voice, the indecision, made him wonder if it was the right choice, but her final words; 'don't call back' were said with an uncertain tone. He knew she was wondering, knew she was still thinking about him. He also knew, unless he saw her again, he'd have to finally stop thinking about her. He'd have to slowly allow himself to forget to feeling of her body against his, the smell of her hair, the way she would tap a pen when thinking, the way she only smiled and never laughed… The look in her eyes when they'd sat on the bed together, and again when he'd kissed her goodbye. The taste of her name on his lips… All these things he had been trying to forget, not for her, but for his own reasons. While ever he was drowning himself in the memories of her, he was drowning himself more heavily in vodka. He still loved her, the very thought of her, the way she haunted him at night time. She was a nymph, a muse, a thought he willed himself to stop thinking, but couldn't. She was embedded so deeply in his psyche that thoughts of her and Sandy together cut him to the bone. She was perfection embodied, unbreakable, an infatuation that he couldn't untangle himself from no matter how hard he tried and how much alcohol he had to use to drown himself in.

Before he could stop himself, Carter picked up the phone and dialled a number that he should, by now, have forgotten. That he shouldn't have memorised to start with. Her answering machine greeted him, her recorded voice permeating his alcohol-soaked brain, capable of wreaking havoc with him even over hundreds of miles of phone cable. He waited until the beep, choked as he started to talk, not knowing what to say. He hung up after several seconds, berating himself for not being able to talk to this woman with whom he'd shared more of his thoughts with than his ex-wife. Berated himself for calling her at all, as he had for too many nights now. But he'd thought he would have forgotten her by now; she was like a drug, he'd assumed, and would leave his system eventually. But this eventuality did not seem to be taking place. He thought back to their first dinner; he'd felt a glimmer of hope when he'd noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She was married though but, by the sound of it, not happily. He could tell straightaway that she was lying about losing it. Could tell something had happened to make her take it off. He knew, too, that his wife had taken off her wedding ring as a sign of their impending divorce. He hoped the same was true of Sandy and Kirsten.

_Please let me know what you think so far. Outside input is invaluable!_


	3. Those Breathing Calls

_Thank you so much for the reviews so far. They've kept me going! Ooh, and for everyone who wanted a conversation, I put one in here for you… _

_This chapter written with the assistance of the following wonderful songs;_

_Insomnia by Electric President_

_John Wayne Gacy Jr by Sufjan Stevens_

_Suffering by The Beautiful Girls_

_If you can listen to any or all of these while you're reading, please do. It'll give you an idea of how I was feeling. Enjoy- and keep those reviews coming please xx._

Kirsten's phone beeped irritatingly enough at her to permeate her sleep. She sighed, reached for it, remembered she'd left it in her bag last night, too tired to put it next to her bed. Beside her, Sandy stirred as she got up, pushing her hair back, to find exactly where she'd dropped her bag. It had been another long function night, a party where she and Sandy had stood together, smiled, drank tonic water with lime and avoided questions with the word rehab in it. She knew it was going to take a while for the gossip to die down, hadn't expected any less from the people in Newport, but was surprised about the amount of support she'd received from the Newpsies. No doubt they were going to be gossiping about her today, wondering if they'd seen her with a drink in her hand at all, recapping the funeral disaster as she'd smashed a vodka bottle and yelled at Sandy, viciously negating blame for her downfall, but last night they were a disturbing flock of sympathy and support. She'd already missed several Newpsie meetings, had assumed that, as well as Suriak, would have made her an outcast, but she'd underestimated their willpower when it came to saving their own.

Kirsten flipped the phone open, dialled her message bank number and listened to a second of stifled breathing before the caller hung up. She'd been getting these calls more recently, had assumed it was a wrong number at first but it had been happening too much for this to be true. She deleted the message, checked the time. It was ten to six, early enough to get ready for the day. Kirsten set her phone down beside the bed while she went into the kitchen to make herself coffee.

It rang while she was gone, and in his half asleep state, Sandy reached out at it. He squinted blearily at the number- private, before flipping it open. Who the hell rang this early?

"'Lo." He mumbled. There was silence on the other end, a kind of quickened breathing to let him know that there was line was still open. As abruptly as it had started, the caller hung up. Sandy clicked the phone shut, looking at it. He immediately thought of the transgressions that Kirsten had denied, with Jimmy and, more recently, Carter. He'd always trusted her, but since she'd seemed so defensive about Carter, he'd had the first few seeds of doubt planted in his mind. He vaguely looked for Kirsten before realising she couldn't be there, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to reach her bedside table without encountering her sleeping form. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, swung his legs around to the side of the bed. He sauntered through to the kitchen, following the sound of movement. He loved morning stillness, the feeling in the air, anticipation for a day just begun. He would usually be out surfing, but had heard the report for waves wasn't great, so had decided to stay at home with Kirsten.

"Morning." He said when he came into the kitchen. She was standing by the sink, looking over the pool to the view beyond, pale in the morning light. She turned round, smiled at him, her hair still loose and bed wild. She looked young in the mornings, before she'd applied her makeup, while she was still sleep rumpled, before the day had taken its toll on her. Sandy crossed the last few steps to her, wrapped his arms around her as she turned back to the window, landed a kiss, through her hair, on the back of her neck. He was taking notice of her more since Suriak, aware that every moment they spent together was important, that it was a moment less apart. She was more like the woman he had fallen in love with, filled with hope and laughter. They'd lost the laughter for a long time, had only just managed to recapture it.

"You got a phone call." Sandy said, leaning closer to her. She was so much thinner than she had been, her hands, over his as they lay on her stomach, seemed smaller.

"Hmmm." Kirsten said.

"A heavy breather." Sandy continued. Kirsten sighed, knew he would immediately be thinking the worse, running Carter and Jimmy through his head, wondering about an affair. He waited through her silence, before nuzzling her neck. Kirsten debated about telling him about the voice mail she'd been receiving for a month.

"Actually, it's been happening a lot. Usually on my voice mail. Just breathing on the phone, then they hang up. I thought it was a wrong number at first, but…" Kirsten trailed off, not wanting to list any other possibilities. Sandy turned her around, looked into her eyes. She was relieved to see only over protection, initiated by love.

"Have you told anyone?" Sandy asked. Kirsten knew she must look confused, wondering what he meant.

"The police." Sandy clarified. Kirsten shook her head, wondering what the police could do.

"No, I didn't think there was any need. It's not like it's threatening… It's just breathing." Kirsten shrugged, wanting Sandy to dismiss it as something trivial, as she had done. She reached into the cupboard to get a mug so she could pour Sandy's coffee before taking hers and moving to the table.

"Honey, how long has this been going on?" Sandy followed her, obviously not able to let the issue drop.

"About a month or so… Maybe less. It's not a big deal." She caught his eye. "Really." She added, letting him know she was finished talking about it. He looked back at her, and she knew he wasn't happy with the outcome, but also knew he couldn't push it any further.

"And if you get one of your friends to bug my phone, or whatever it is they do…" Kirsten trailed off, tried her best to look menacingly at Sandy as Seth entered the room.

"Whoah, Dad, bugging the phone. How very Mission Impossible of you." Seth went straight for the cereal cupboard, pulled out his favourite and started to eat straight from the box.

"Seth, other people have to eat out of that, use a bowl." Kirsten said to him. She loved the normalcy that she had always taken for granted. Moments like these, almost mundane in their simplicity, never failed to remind her how lucky she was to be back home, wrapped in the folds of their family. Ryan entered the kitchen, went straight for coffee.

"Just tell me if it keeps happening, okay?" Sandy gave her a kiss on the forehead as he headed to shower before he went to work. Kirsten nodded, watched him walk out, reminded again of how much she loved that man, putting the phone calls out of her mind.


	4. Thinking of Her

Carter leant back in his chair, swung around to the window that allowed him a view of the cityscape. He'd managed to get through the morning, had performed quite well at the meeting earlier, had even managed to finish a story early and had sent it out to the editor. Unfortunately, now his mind was free of work he had time to think of the other thing that occupied the rest of his time; Kirsten. He wondered what she was doing now. He'd read about her father's death, had sent a card to her along with a bunch of flowers. He hadn't put a return address on it, hadn't wanted any discreetly expensive, universal thank-you-for-your-condolences card back. He'd managed to keep in touch with the secretary that had worked at the Newport Group. She'd informed him of Kirsten's subsequent break down and retreat to rehab. He'd secretly felt guilty about that, had known that it was him, as well as Sandy's actions with the other woman, more than her father's funeral, that had driven her to drink. He felt terrible about not being able to be there, comfort her. He'd heard she'd moved to a friend's place in the woods before moving back to her house, had felt a perverse pleasure knowing this, sensing things between her and Sandy were still rocky. Any day now, he was going to call and actually say something, allow her to invite him back into his life. He was always too scared in case she rejected him, didn't know how bad the fall out would be if he was already a wreck after leaving her life on his own terms.

"Carter?" Lisa stood at the door, the copywriter for the magazine. She was blonde, but not blonde enough. She was thin, but not the same kind of thinness that Kirsten had been, that upper class slenderness he had longed to feel wrapped around him. He'd been fucking her for a week; she was the closest he could find to Kirsten, and she didn't object when he called out Kirsten's name instead of her own.

"Hi." He said, swinging around to face her. She was a little taller than Kirsten, her eyes were a little less blue. He wished she would wear her hair out more.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" She asked. She shuffled uncomfortably in the doorway, and he wondered whether he'd had enough of her, but she met her eyes and he saw, or imagined, that same directness that Kirsten had used with him.

"Want to come over? I'll cook something." Carter gave her a smile, and she smiled back, left. He'd been teaching himself how to cook better. He knew it was because Kirsten couldn't, and he'd wanted to balance out the couple that he knew he was hoping, one day, they would be. He had been trying to kid himself, tell himself there was someone else out there for him, someone other than Kirsten, but he was beginning to reject his own lives. He knew Kirsten was the only one for him, knew she had started to realise that she was made for him as well. He looked at his watch, reached for his phone. She might be out having lunch with a Newpsie, might be repotting geraniums… Might be spending time with Sandy. At this, Carter's face darkened and he dialled her number with ferocity. She answered on the third ring, and he leant back in her chair as he listened to her voice.

"Hello?" There was a pause while she waited for someone to say something, waited for something other than Carter's breathing. He imagined that he could almost feel her breath across the miles that separated him, smell her hair. She waited another moment, repeated her first word before hanging up. He hung up as well, satisfied for the moment. He hadn't heard Sandy in the background. He checked his watch again, and his schedule of events for the week. He had an interview tomorrow, another story to write the day after and then he was free for the weekend. He'd started using his weekends to head out of town, to a small cabin he'd inherited off a long-dead Uncle. He'd always been tempted to sell it, but something had held him back. He'd been fixing it up, had remodelled the kitchen and bathroom, and added an extra bedroom. It was where he could go to be even more alone than he was usually. He liked the solitude the mountains brought, the way he knew he would be undisturbed. He could drink as much as he like, play his music as loud as he liked and not worry about having to stumble around finding the door while an irate neighbour did their best to bring it down with their knocking. He gathered up his briefcase, put his mobile in his pocket and walked out the door. He was meant to be here until at least five, but didn't think anyone was going to complain if he was going to walk out sooner. He'd finished everything he had to do, and he knew he was loved around here. The editor practically kissed his ass every time she saw him. He couldn't look past the darkness of her hair and the greenness of her eyes to forge the kind of relationship he knew she was gagging for. He tolerated it only because he needed the money, he truly did like his job and he liked having the freedom to leave early if he desired. He waved at the secretaries as they left, pressed the button on the lift and waited. He looked in the shiny stainless steel doors, thought about how different this office was from the Newport Group. Here, everything was much more sterile and minimalist. He preferred it this way, preferred not being reminded of where he and Kirsten had spent so much time every day. The lift came, he stepped in, heading for his apartment where, later, he would make dinner for, and hopefully fuck, his faux-Kirsten.


	5. Family Time Interrupted

Kirsten yawned and stretched as she sat up.

"Right when the credits start, Mom. Great timing." Seth was, as usual, sarcastic as he leaned forward to swap one DVD for another. She'd fallen asleep just after the movie had started, hadn't even made it to the first plot loop before her head had dropped to Sandy's shoulder.

"Every movie." Sandy said incredulously as he shook his head.

"You know, I thought they were joking about you doing that." Ryan said as he got up. Kirsten shrugged, yawned again. She didn't know what it was about movies, but she could never seem to get through them. They'd been having a family night- something Sandy had instigated since she'd come back from Suriak. Usually it was just a few hours spent watching a DVD or, if it was hot enough, down at the beach watching twilight roll in or gathered at the pool, Seth and Ryan swimming, Sandy and Kirsten in the spa. She was enjoying it, knew the boys were as well by their participation effort. While they were acting as if it was something that ate into their 'me' time, she knew they were both glad she was home. She was overjoyed they'd been so accepting, had been, and still was, wracked with guilt over what she'd done to them, especially to Ryan. She knew one mother had failed him, didn't want to be the second one that had. She knew, too, hat she had failed Sandy, knew these wounds ran deeper than her drinking. Knew these were only just mending. Nights like tonight, though, when they were all gathered together as a family, when her mistakes could be forgotten.

"So, we've got Session 9 or Saw. Personally, I've got to say Saw is the best. Seeing Kiefer Sutherland outside of 24 is a bit alternate universe."

"Whatever you want, son. You know your mother's going to fall asleep anyway." Sandy pulled Kirsten in for a hug as she started to give him a look.

"Anyone want coffee?" Ryan yelled through from the kitchen. A chorus of affirmatives rang out, and he appeared with four mugs hanging from his fingers and the coffee pot. Once everyone had a cup of caffeine, and the pot was refilling in the kitchen, Seth started the movie. Kirsten made it to the fifth or sixth scene before she started drifting off. She made a conscious effort to stay awake, but Sandy was so comfortable… She dozed, not noticing the glances between Sandy, Seth and Ryan as they all observed her in slumber, mostly amused. It was nearing the end of the movie when Kirsten's phone rang. She awoke with a start; she'd thought she'd turned it off. It was on the arm of the couch and she grabbed it. Private number, as usual. She was tempted to not answer it. It was almost midnight, and, with all her boys here and her father buried, there was no one that would be calling at this hour. Wordlessly, she showed the screen to Sandy. He noticed it said private, probably knew that there was no one else that would be calling this late. Kirsten got up off the couch, flipped it open.

"Hello?" On the other end, there was predictable silence for a moment before a drawn out moan followed. Kirsten listened more closely, maybe recognizing something familiar. She couldn't be sure, moved out into the hallway away from the noise coming from the television. Sandy followed her out, hovered around her left shoulder. She moved the phone to her right ear. She heard panting, then muffled words, as if someone was talking and the mouth of the phone had been covered before the line was disconnected. It was the first time her caller had hung up on her, rather than she handing up on them. From the moan, she was almost sure it was a man, but the muffled background noise had sounded like a female talking. Kirsten flipped the phone shut, and turned to Sandy. Suddenly, she felt the first creeping fingers of fear along her spine. She'd been getting these calls increasingly more frequently and she was beginning to wonder what it meant. She'd been called too many times for it to be some random person who mistakenly dialled her number. She wasn't listed anywhere, either, so it wasn't just anyone that had this number. And it had gone on too long for it to be a prank. She hadn't lied to Sandy about how long it had been happening, but she had omitted how much it was happening. Sometimes, she'd call her voice mail to find there were fifteen or twenty messages on there. Kirsten flipped her phone back open and turned it off, not able to stifle the small shiver that went through her.

"Another heavy breather?" Sandy asked. Kirsten didn't want to introduce the idea of some guy ringing her up to jerk off, so she neglected to tell him about the moan. Or about the way it had a familiar tone to it, as if she knew the voice. She nodded, slipped the phone into her pocket.

"Who was that?" Seth had appeared in the hallway, the movie finished.

"Has anyone been calling here and hanging up?" Sandy asked, moving back to the lounge room. Kirsten followed him.

"Do you mean a heavy breather call? Mom, you've been getting heavy breather calls?" Seth nodded to himself, probably already considering thoughts of Mafia or old men in grubby armchairs. Ryan shook his head. A moment later Seth looked up, registered that the question actually required an answer and shook his head as well. Sandy looked back at Kirsten, saw how tired she was even after playing the role of sleeping beauty through two movies.

"We're going to bed. Remember, school tomorrow." Sandy said as Seth put another DVD into the player.

"Yeah, we'll be bright eyed tomorrow morning, don't worry." Seth waved Sandy's parental advice away.

"Night." Ryan said.

Kirsten and Sandy walked down the hallway towards their room. She knew what he was going to say.

"I really think I should talk to someone, so we can see where those calls are coming from. Has there been a number on any of them?" Kirsten shook her head.

"Always a private number." She said.

"Well, I'm going to talk to someone about it tomorrow, see if I can get something set up." Kirsten sighed.

"Really, Sandy, it's probably a wrong number. Nothing to worry about. It's not like anyone's threatened me or anything. I really don't see the point." Kirsten started taking her earrings off in front of the mirror. She didn't want Sandy to put a tap on her phone, didn't want her privacy invaded. She knew he'd be looking for more than the breather's number, knew he still didn't trust her fully.

"If it keeps happening, you let me know." Sandy said, already changed into his pyjamas and pulling the covers back on the bed. Kirsten followed him into the bathroom and turned on the shower as he started cleaning his teeth. She undressed, aware of his eyes on her. She loved that he still found her attractive. She was aware of the weight she'd lost, of his eyes catching on the corners of her hipbones, her ribs which were showing, not just at the front, but were also visible at her back.

"Maybe it's one of those call centre places. You know, their computers dial out. Maybe it's just stuck on my number or something." Kirsten voiced an obvious lie over the sound of the water as she rubbed shampoo into her hair. From the moan, she knew it wasn't just a call centre, but she wanted to placate Sandy, get him off his current train of thought, stop him worrying.

"Maybe." He sounded about as convinced as she felt. She rinsed the shampoo out and put conditioner in, before reaching out through the door to grab the toothbrush Sandy had loaded with toothpaste for her. Cleaning her teeth in the shower was an indulgence she loved. It gave the conditioner time to work, and it let her stay under the hot spray longer.

"Besides, it's not like it's even heavy breathing. Just… breathing." Kirsten rinsed her mouth out and passed the toothbrush back out.

"Hmm." Sandy still didn't sound convinced, and Kirsten washed her conditioner out in silence, allowing him to mull over his thoughts. She was trying to run through who actually had this number. Her family, Jimmy, Julie, a lot of the clients she had dealt with at the Newport Group, people from Suriak… Staff from the Newport Group… Staff… Kirsten brought her head out from under the flow of water with a gasp. She knew the moan had sounded familiar- Carter.

There was no way she could tell Sandy who it was. He'd immediately jump to the wrong conclusion, and they'd only just managed to get themselves back onto solid ground. Truth be told, she wasn't completely sure that was who it had been, but the moan had sounded so much like him. She didn't know why he'd been calling her either, and so much. He was the one who had left her. He'd wound her up first, got her interested, aroused in her the kind of passion she remembered from when she and Sandy were first dating. They'd danced around each other; late nights in the office, unneeded touches, caresses that were not so innocent, Featherbrook, that kiss in the kitchen… Then he'd left her alone to sort everything out… The way things with Sandy had fallen apart, the helplessness she felt when she was around the boys and didn't know anything about their lives, the way the Newport Group had been given to Julie without a thought to how Kirsten might feel, how much she started to drink and how guilty she felt that all this was happening like a whirlwind around her while she just… Stood still. The eye of the storm, touched eventually by the inner perimeter of the tornado but until then, motionless, helpless, unable to get out without being blown away. Only now was she starting to get back into things. She made sure she asked the boys about their days, how their girlfriends were, what they were up to on the weekend. She no longer had to worry about the Newport Group, but knew it was a matter of time before she needed to do more than garden and try, albeit unsuccessfully, to cook. And Sandy and she were finally communicating again. There was still a distance between them, a wound that had not yet fully closed, both still wary of the other's claims of truths when it came to Rebecca, Jimmy, Carter. They were trying though, searching for the perfect rhythm that they had once had. And now, if it was Carter, his calls threatened to tear apart the little oasis she had set up for herself now she was home again. She didn't think she could deal with him again, the unbidden temptation, the language that flowed between them, with touches, long looks, the way he stood a little closer to her than he should. The way he knew she had Sandy but looked as if he was ready to disregard that, if she was. She wasn't yet strong enough to defend herself against his onslaught, what he would want, if he came back and said he'd made a mistake leaving her. No married woman wants a bachelor clamouring for her affections if her marriage is already rocky.

"The water will run cold soon." Sandy was still outside the bathroom, perched on the edge of the spa. Kirsten straightened up with a jolt. She'd been dreaming about Carter, immediately felt guilty about this because her husband was several feet away and because her thoughts were not all innocent. She'd briefly remembered Carter's kiss, the way it felt to have another man's lips on hers.

Kirsten shook her head, turned the water off. She and Carter had gone as far as she would let it go. She still didn't entirely believe Sandy about Rebecca, but she was willing to let it become a distant memory to save their marriage.

Sandy gave her a towel, which she wrapped herself in. The steam from the shower was becoming cloying in the small room, lacing itself around she and Sandy, as if to block off all contact with the outside world.

Kirsten smoothed her hair back, stray tendrils dripping onto her bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

"You're working tomorrow?" Kirsten asked. It was more of a cursory question, spoken to fill the silence, which tempted her with thoughts of Carter. Instead, she wanted to hear Sandy, think only of him, remember the bender Carter had sent her on, hold on to the way he had contributed to her downfall.

"Yeah, there's some issues going on with the hospital. Matt just needs me to look over some papers, check it from a legal perspective." Kirsten wiped the mirror, clearing her reflection. She looked at Sandy's image in the mirror.

"You know, I love you." She needed to say it, believe it, ground herself. His eyes met hers in the mirror; a long look followed, hopeful, partly trusting.

"I love you too." He gave her a kiss on her cheek before she started applying moisturiser, headed for the bedroom where he turned on her bedside light. Kirsten rubbed the moisturiser in, leant forward to check on her skin close up. She knew, with the weight she'd lost, her cheekbones showed through the skin more, her eyes appeared bigger, her jaw line overshadowed her neck more. She knew she should eat more, knew it was her way of regaining control. She had been unable to control the amount of alcohol she drank, but she could control how much food she ate. Lately, it hadn't been much. A coffee for breakfast, an apple for lunch, half a plate of takeout for dinner. Sandy had noticed, Julie had made noises over how thin she was getting but they didn't realise she'd taken some of her clothes to be tailored so they didn't hang off her, had bought bras with more padding so that no one would notice.

Kirsten finished her musing, flicked off the light to the bathroom. Her bedside lamp cast a soft glow in the bedroom, illuminating her pyjamas lying on the end of the bed. She pulled them on unselfconsciously, aware of Sandy's eyes following her about the room. They were a size smaller than she usually wore, but she knew Sandy didn't check tags, wouldn't realise the extent of how thin she had become.

"I thought I'd have lunch with Julie tomorrow, see how she's going." Since Caleb's will, the surprise of there being no family fortune for Julie to dip into had hit her hard. Kirsten tried to take her out to lunch a few times a month, keep in touch. Although being overbearing and constantly concerned with her own wellbeing, Julie had been one of the first people to sincerely welcome Kirsten home.

"She'll probably need some uplifting. I heard he DA is sniffing around her, trying to find out if there's anything she had secreted away, anything they missed. I've told them there's not, but they're not as likely to believe me since I defended Cal on his bribery charges."

Kirsten climbed into bed beside him, stretched herself out along his side before reaching back to turn the light off. Sandy encircled her with an arm, making her feel safe, protected from everything except her own thoughts.

"G'night." Sandy said. Kirsten felt his voice as a vibration through her body, a slow rumble that filled her with warmth. This, lying with him in their bed, feeling like nothing else mattered in the world, this was the thing she had missed the most when she was in Suriak. Just her, Sandy and the darkness.

"'Night." Kirsten replied, settling down against his chest, letting her breath match his, fading into a sleep filled with dreams of Sandy, dreams of Carter.


	6. Faux Kirsten Revealed

Carter opened the door to find Lisa standing in his doorway. She was wearing a singlet and some fitted jeans. If not for the cheap fabric of her singlet, compared to the silk Kirsten wore, or the way her jeans flowed over hips that were padded more than Kirsten's, she looked achingly close to the woman he wished he was opening the door to.

"Hi." Lisa handed over a bottle of wine, walked in as Carter stood aside. He liked his apartment, had modelled it off the expensively elegant simplicity he had seen in Kirsten's house. Lisa had been here before, felt comfortable enough to drop her coat on the couch before walking through to the kitchen. Carter followed, watched her lift the lid of a pot and sniff appreciatively. He was simmering pork chops in a rich apple sauce. He knew after Lisa ate, she'd smell of apples, of Kirsten's shampoo.

"Wine?" He asked, getting out two glasses. Lisa smiled, nodded. She drank as much as Kirsten used to. Carter wondered if Kirsten was much different now she was sober all the time. Lisa got giggly when she was drunk, whereas Kirsten had just gotten more accepting of touches, more charming.

"So, I've been thinking about next weekend?" Lisa said. She phrased everything as if it was a question, tilting her tone up at the end of each sentence.

"Hmm." Carter said, leading her through to the lounge room where they could look out, past the chair he had spent too many hours in thinking about Kirsten, to the line of the city beyond.

"Wouldn't it be fun to go away somewhere? I mean, we've never done anything on the weekends… I just thought, you know?" Carter continued looking out the window, ignoring Lisa's persistent hand on his arm. He knew this would happen sooner or later, knew she'd start to get serious. He had wanted it to happen later, rather than sooner, wanted more of a chance to see how much more he could change Lisa into Kirsten. Wanted to think about going back to Newport, seeing her again, seeing if it would break the hold she had over him. He didn't know whether he wanted her hold to break over him though, didn't know what he'd have to think about, to live for, if she wasn't always in his thoughts.

"Actually, I'm busy next weekend. I promised a friend I'd help him fix up his house in the country. It would probably be boring for you… Guy stuff… Toolbelts…" Carter looked over to see Lisa pouting at him. She was unequivocally a city girl, born and raised in New York, unaccustomed to fresh air or open spaces. The word country immediately invoked fears of manual labour, insects, having to walk without heels on.

"Well, maybe the weekend after...?" Carter shrugged indifferently, not wanting to be pinned down by her neediness. The buzzer rang, signalling the pork chops' readiness to be eaten. Carter got up off the couch, offering his hand to Lisa. She held it as they walked through to the kitchen, laced her fingers through his as Kirsten had once done to him, briefly, when they were walking out to the parking lot after another night drinking too much wine and talking about the magazine and anything else that came to mind. Carter brought Lisa's hand up to place a kiss on her knuckles before he let it drop. He didn't want his refusal to set up a weekend away to make her leave early. By the look in her eyes, as he refilled the glass, she wouldn't be leaving before morning.

Carter set out the salad he'd made earlier, put the pork chops on a plate. Lisa carried the plates from the warmer in the oven to the table before sitting at a chair to the side of the head of the table. Carter had always imagined Kirsten sitting here with him, had sat at this table when it was still in the store, and imagined her sitting across from him, her chair pulled in close so their hands could entwine while they were eating. Reminiscent of the dinner they had together at her house, Carter had always imagined her at the head of the table. The fact that Lisa had not chosen that spot made him realise, again, that they really were very different people. Lisa could never match Kirsten in class, or style.

"So, this weekend, I'm having a girls night out. It could get wild." Lisa looked at him under her eyelashes, almost willing him to be jealous. He served up his salad before looking back at her.

"That should be good." He said mildly. He was reminded of the dinner at Kirsten's, when Sandy had introduced him to Erin. Kirsten had dropped no insinuations, had known he would never go for Erin. She had looked pleased when he lied and told her Erin had turned him down, but she would never try to make him jealous. It was too cheap a move for her.

"And the weekend after, I thought I'd fly to Newport." Carter's heart nearly stopped as he heard Lisa speak.

"Where?" He asked, wondering how he sounded so calm.

"Newport Beach. It's in California… My sister lives there, and ever since she had her baby, I've promised to fly over, but it's all the way across the country. Plus it's super hot there. And I really need to take Friday and Monday off work to do it. I've got the time owing, so all I have to do is book my tickets." Lisa rambled on, unaware that Carter had put his knife and fork down and was looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

"That's why I was thinking we could do something. I'm really not a good flyer, I like having someone there." Lisa finally looked up from her plate, caught Carter looking at her. If there was a bigger coincidence than his faux-Kirsten having ties to where his real-Kirsten resided, he was yet to come across it.

"You know, I worked there for a few months, at a little publication. It'd be good to see a few old friends. If I can get the time off work, I'll book us tickets tomorrow." Lisa smiled at him, swallowed the pork she'd been chewing and spoke.

"That's great. I'll book us into a hotel. I mean, we could stay at my sister's because she lives in a fairly big place, but with the baby there…" Lisa shook her head, obviously not pleased by the idea of being woken at all hours by the howling of a small child.

"Sounds great." Carter resumed eating, his mind already on how he would see Kirsten. He knew she no longer worked at the Newport Group. He'd have to come up with something by the time they landed in California.

"Taste good?" He asked Lisa. She smiled at him, nodded. She was on a diet, like most New York women seemed to be. The amount on her plate seemed to be changed by only a few mouthfuls and a lot of cutting.

Later, clearing the plates away, Lisa came up behind Carter and wrapped her arms around him. He was still consumed with thoughts of how he might bump into Kirsten, how he could orchestrate a meeting that Sandy need not know about, that would not lead to Kirsten guessing about why he was back there. He'd need Lisa as his side, a valid excuse, but would prefer her to not be there so he could talk to Kirsten alone, lose himself in her words, her every move, without Lisa constantly adding incessant babble to the conversation like an errant child.

Carter turned around to kiss Lisa, felt her lean into him, start to unbutton his shirt. At this point he let himself drift from reality further by imagining, as he did every time they had sex, Kirsten in her place, her small hands working at his shirt buttons, her blues eyes shut in ecstasy. Carter walked backwards towards the bedroom, holding fast to the embrace his Kirsten look-alike was offering him. Clothes were quickly dispatched into lifeless piles on the floor as their limbs became entangled upon the bed. Carter could almost see Kirsten's face in Lisa's, her eyes dark in passion, lips swollen from kisses, back arched. He felt himself getting harder, felt himself swelling to the point of breakage. He reached for the phone past Lisa, pressed speed dial and willed her to pick up. It was only a few rings before she did, and as he heard her voice say that too-familiar word, he felt release, allowed himself a slight moan. Lisa squirmed out from under him.

"Who the hell is that?" She asked. Carter had covered the mouth piece with his hand, hung up now before Kirsten had the chance to hang up on him.

"It's no one… I thought I heard it ring, picked it up…" Carter heard himself sound confident in his lie, knew Lisa had bought it when she lay back down beside him, the light from the kitchen illuminating her collar bones, reminding him too sweetly of Kirsten, what it had felt like to let go to her words. Carter pulled Lisa towards him, let his arms rest around her. Usually he just felt like taking a shower after they'd had sex, wanting to wash the stench of a woman other than Kirsten off him. If he had sex with Kirsten, he knew he'd try and stay with her as long as possible, basking in her scent, in their sweaty afterglow. Tonight, hearing her voice had brought her closer to him. The darkness of the room contributed to his imagination painting Lisa as Kirsten. The whiff of apple still on Lisa's breath made Carter close his eyes, remember Kirsten's hair, Kirsten's eyes. She seemed to be all around him, enveloping him in a dream that was happening when he was both awake and asleep. He thought it would be subsiding, thought time apart would have faded his memory of her, but instead it was only becoming clearer. Every late night in the office, every time she had looked up at him so that he melted into those liquid blue pools… These memories and more were becoming a sharper constant in his mind, an unavoidable thought process that he did not know how to rid himself of. He needed her. Suddenly, next weekend seemed too far away.

_Yes, the time zone thing may be out since they're on different sides of the country. I realise I should do something about that… Maybe the Cohens were just watching the movies really late. And, wow, what a coincidence about the Lisa/Newport thing. Mhm, I know. Just go with it. Please…_

_This fic will be going on a short hiatus. I'm sorry- I want to know what happens as much as you. Uni has just started back for the year, and it's vaguely crazy around here at the moment. _


End file.
